


Two Wardens Meet In A Bar

by TheLittleMuse



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: A/U, Enemies to ... well they're not killing each other, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 04:08:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10711884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleMuse/pseuds/TheLittleMuse
Summary: What if Morgan survived Turn Coat? Harry and Morgan aren't friends, but ... they aren't enemies either.





	Two Wardens Meet In A Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Do you know how frustrating I found it that Butcher killed Morgan, because Harry and Morgan's relationship would've become really interesting if he had lived, but no, you had to go and kill him. Gah.

**_Post Turn Coat_ **

I clenched the bottle in my hand and tried to quell the bubbling emotions in my gut. I’d always been something of a stoic (or a ‘cold-hearted bastard’, according to the other Wardens) but I’d been so good at my job because I could remove my emotions from the situation until after the fight. But now there was no fight, at least, no fight I understood. I’d been grounded at headquarters. The Merlin had been kind when he told me, explained it all in such reasonable terms. There were so many people still unsure about me after LaFortier’s death that really, it was best if I stayed quiet for a while. That was the idea, anyway. Despite the fact that my innocence had been proven. So I was sitting in the Warden’s Worry Room doing _nothing_. It was terrible.

Seemingly on cue, Dresden walked into the Worry Room. And just when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.

Dresden grunted, “I heard about what happened. Sorry.”

I allowed myself to acknowledge why Dresden hated the Council so much (apart from the death sentence thing). Dresden had put everything on the line, including his and his apprentice’s life, to save a man who he hated because he thought that man was innocent. But the Council still managed to muck things up by treating me like I was a traitor, taking me off missions to ‘keep an eye on me’. And Dresden wasn’t surprised. Annoyed, perhaps, and frustrated, but not surprised.

“I don’t need your pity, Dresden,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “You don’t have it.” I glanced at him in surprise, “What?” he asked, “You’re sitting here, following orders, like you always do, even when they’re stupid. We’re at war, and one of our best Wardens is out of action because of politics. And you’re just accepting it. You’ve gone weak, Morgan.”

I ground my teeth, “As usual you have no concept of consequence. If I was out there fighting, the ones that believe me a traitor would have all the ammunition they needed to attack the Merlin, and the White Council would be weakened, perhaps irreparably.”

“And you sitting here doing nothing helps your cause? The Merlin abandoning you helps your cause? You being confined to house arrest is practically confirmation of their suspicions. And hells bells, you were the closest thing the Merlin could have to a friend, you deserve a little loyalty.”

I decided not to tell Dresden about the Merlin’s wife and children. It might break him. The fact that that made it a little tempting was far too childish to contemplate.

But I couldn’t help the fact that Dresden had touched on an all too human hurt that I had been repressing and I hated Dresden for it. He always managed to push my buttons in the worst ways. Despite being my superior, the Merlin and I had been, in some ways, friends. Due to his position the Merlin had few confidents and I was one of those few. I wanted to defend the Merlin as I had always done, but the best I could manage was, “It was the best thing to do. The only thing.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. You could argue it either way. Nevertheless, it wasn’t the _right_ thing to do.”

I snorted, “You’re so damn idealistic.”

“I thought I was a dangerous warlock in the making.”

“The worst of them are idealists.”

He gave me a slight nod in acknowledgement. “I’m not idealistic,” he said, “I’ve met idealistic people. Michael Carpenter makes idealism _work_.” He shook his head slightly and turned to me, “That’s not the point. The point is, what happened to you? Where’s the paranoid, reactionary old asshole who set me up because he was _sure_ I was the warlockiest warlock that ever warlocked? He didn’t care about the rules. Where’s the fucker who got within a metre of the Red King and almost killed him? Sitting on his ass in a bar. Listen. I’ll give you some advice about dealing with the situation you’re in because, guess what? I’ve been living it nearly all my life. These people aren’t going to change their mind no matter what you do. Sitting here being a good little boy? They’ll find a way to make that seem sinister. Go out and end the war? They’ll manage to twist that into something nefarious as well. No matter what you do, no matter how many lives you save, no matter how hard you try, they Won’t. Change. Their. Minds,” he broke off face close his fists clenched, breathing hard.

He wasn’t talking about me.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts, “So go out and do what you would’ve done anyway. Do it because it makes you happy. Do it because it makes them angry. Do it because we need you in this stupid war and we barely have enough trained Wardens as it is. Do it so you’re on the front line instead of some kid who can barely cast a spell. Oh, and get some good friends. It keeps you sane.”

He turned and walked out the bar. I sat for some time more, finishing my drink. Damn him, he was right. I couldn’t sit here and do nothing, waiting for old wizards to see sense whilst young Wardens died in my place. Besides, I missed the fight.

God, I hated him.

 

…

 

**_Post Changes_ **

There wasn’t any official funeral for Harry Dresden. The official reason was that there wasn’t any body to bury, but the Merlin had seemed a little too happy to see Dresden gone, which had given my stomach an unpleasant turn. After all, Dresden had shown himself to be a decent person, if reckless and ignorant, and, body or not, the Wardens always remembered their own. But my friendship with the Merlin had never quite recovered; he had stayed stubbornly neutral as some of the older guard still called me a traitor, even after my innocence had been proven. Just as Dresden had said they would. I couldn’t help feeling a strange kind of empathy for the man.

Still, I had been accepted back into the folds of the Wardens, and that was what mattered.

So in the tradition of all good Warden funerals alcohol was provided and stories were told. I stayed at the back. Most of the mourners were probably questioning what I was doing there; my relationship with Dresden hadn’t exactly been amiable. But for what it was worth I felt some kind of duty to see him off.

He would’ve hated that, but I think he would’ve understood.

Anastasia came and stood beside me. For a time we silently watched the mourners and I wondered what she was thinking. She had been in a relationship with Dresden, and although that had ultimately been a fiction created by Peabody, she did seem to harbour some genuine affection for him.

“So,” I said, “He started the war for a woman and ended it for a child. There’s a certain completeness about it.”

I am not good at small talk.

Ana turned to me, “Donald,” she said in that particular tone of voice and I felt like a student who had made an exceptionally stupid mistake. “Do you really still think that _Harry_ started the war?” I blinked at her. She sighed. “Did you not realise how well prepared they were for war? They didn’t amass their contacts overnight, nor find their passages through the Ways. That took _centuries_.”

“And then,” I said, following her line of reason, “they created a situation in which we could be blamed for the war so many of those that might ally with us would stay neutral.”

Ana nodded, although her eyes were sad, “They poisoned him, then tortured him, and everyone expected to make a coherent decision in that state?” she shook her head, “One thing we can be certain of is that a vampire knows how to break someone’s mind. Or _knew_ ,” she said with a vicious little smile. “All he knew by that point was he had to get himself out, his friends out and Susan out,” she sighed, a distant look in her eyes. “He never told me exactly what happened. I don’t think he _could,_ even years later.”

“Well,” I said, raising my bottle, “to Harry Dresden. May he get some peace.”

“To Harry Dresden,” Ana agreed, “May somebody finally laugh at his jokes.”

Ana turned to stare sightlessly at the crowd and I said, “Most Wardens don’t die a natural death.”

It was an odd comfort, but true. When you fight monsters eventually you’ll meet a monster that’s too powerful. Every Warden knew this and so with acceptance, came peace. Or at least, that was the theory.

Ana gave a bitter little laugh, “He wasn’t a Warden. He hated us.”

I shrugged, “He did a Warden’s work.”

Ana stared at me, a small smile creeping onto her face.

“He was still arrogant and foolish and strayed far too close to the line practically every day of his life, but yes, he did some positive things. Some. A few. And he did save my life, it would be churlish not to recognise that,” I said, staring back at her stubbornly.

Ana began laughing, “That’s possibly the closest you’ve ever come to saying a nice thing about him. And he’s dead!”

“Just as well,” I said. “He’d gloat horribly if he heard. Besides, I did say something nice when I thought I was dying, but I think I can be forgiven sentiment given the situation.”

Ana gave a half-snort half-laugh, “You … you. _Men._ ”

I smiled and gave a last toast to the man I’d spent years trying to kill, “Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden,” I whispered, “you didn’t deserve to die.”

 

…

 

**_Post Skin Game_ **

I walked into the nearly empty Worry Room to find Dresden sitting there.

“So,” I said. “Not dead.”

“Not dead,” he agreed.

“So, was it a trick?” I was angrier than I expected. A lot of the younger Wardens had been upset by his death.

He shook his head, “I was shot,” he tapped his heart, “I spent some time as a ghost. Then,” he made a ‘puff’ motion with his hands, “I was back. I’ve gotten some suggestions that I wasn’t ‘completely’ dead, but I try not to think about it. The whole thing gets worryingly theological. Some higher powers are playing around with my life.”

“Mab, for one.”

“For _one,_ ” he agreed, although I caught the emphasis. “And more. I think I know all of them but,” he shook his head, “sometimes I think I’ve never-” he looked straight at me, almost in my eyes. “It wasn’t an accident I was born on Halloween.”

The implications hit me, “LeFay. She made a deal.”

“She made lots of deals. I don’t know all of them. Hell, I’ve barely scratched the surface.” He frowned thoughtfully, “You can’t kill me, you know.”

Familiar anger hit me; he was LeFay’s creature, Winter’s creature. Mab had as surely made him a warlock as I was a Warden, “Why not?” I growled.

“The political implications would be troublesome,” he said lightly. “And your Merlin would not risk angering the Winter Queen over such a insignificant matter.”

I clenched my fist. It was true.

Dresden smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile, “You’re kind of like me that way, aren’t you?” I wanted to protest at being accused of having any similarity to Dresden, but he continued, “Politics doesn’t matter to you. The Laws do. Making sure Justice is done. We may differ on what that means, but we have that similarity. You’d see me dead if I broke a Law. Well. Even if it started a war.”

“Would it?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know. She’d be pissed. She did go to a lot of trouble to get me, after all. I did say no for a long time. But she can always get a new Knight. Knights die, it’s in their nature. Mortals are such troublesome things. Most likely she wouldn’t start a war, but she would kill you. Painfully.” He looked me in the eyes, too briefly to threaten a soulgaze, “Would you risk it?”

I realised what he was asking. I had come to reluctantly accept that Dresden wasn’t actively malevolent, even if he did skirt far too close to the line for my liking, but the Mantle he bore could change all of that. The Winter Mantle had the power to completely destroy his personality if he didn’t properly handle it.

And so he was asking someone both prepared to, and with enough power to kill him should that happen.

“Yes. I would risk it.”

He winced slightly, “You might regret that. I saw what she did to Slate. That’s not something to take lightly.”

“I might regret it. But I’ve put a lot of energy into trying to bring you down, Dresden. I might as well finish the job.”

He grinned, which I thought an odd reaction, but Dresden had always found humour in the strangest things. Then, looking faintly sick, he said, “You’re a good man, Morgan.”

“Likewise, Dresden,” I said.

There was a pause, then by mutual agreement we exited the Worry Room in silence. Some things really shouldn’t be said out loud.


End file.
